Just a Sip 

 Lisa Y Drexel

Companion piece to The Spell of Lethean--this one written in first person, Spike's POV. What are his thoughts about the spell and its ramifications. NC-17!

One sip.

I think that'll haunt me until the end of my days.

One more bloody sip and she would've been gone for good.

I came so close to loosing her and by my own bloody hands that I still am in awe on how she could forgive me.

But she has. Fucking hell, she did before I even sank my fangs into her sweet skin—that's the bloody irony of it all.

She thinks I never noticed before, but I did. The way she would look for danger—always running fists first into every battle with me cursing her as I protected her back.

I think she wanted me to fail, you know?

I asked the watcher about it nearly six months ago. Curious to know how long slayers usually live and if Buffy was truly the most effective and longest living slayer on record.

In that bumbling manner of his, he told me the hard facts of slaying. Funny, that Spike, the Slayer of Slayers, wanting to know how to keep one alive instead of how to kill her.

Although he didn't say anything, I knew he saw the irony in that as well. At the time, I didn't care though. I was too pissed off once I heard why slayers die so young.

It actually makes sense, in some real warped sodding way—they just burn out. If they aren't killed in action—if their skills and luck are too good for them to die at a demon's hand—they begin to search for that special demon that will end it—end their life.

He explained it—stuttering like a bloody fool as our eyes met. I could see the fear and pain in them—which I'm sure was the same with me. None of us wanted Buffy to die—well, except maybe Buffy.

Well, I was pissed. Teed off enough to actually give my poof of a sire a call. I don't quite know what I said—but whatever it was—it was enough to make him come back to Sunnydale that very same night.

Three hours later, there he was—at my doorstep with the bitchy cheerleader and half-demon Doyle behind him—daring me with his eyes not to invite him. Rolling my eyes, I invited the dastardly trio inside and immediately flopped back down on the couch, grabbing my opened bottle of Jack Daniel's on the way. Leaning back against the cushions, I must've drank a quarter of it all the while Peaches was staring at me—waiting for me to speak.

"What?" I snapped as I slammed the bottle down on the table. "What the hell do you want?"

"Spike," Peaches growled. "You can't expect me not to come down here after you tell me that Buffy's suicidal! What the hell did you do to her?"

That was it. I shot up out of my chair and had Peaches by his shirt before I could even stop myself. Lifting him, I easily smashed him into the wall behind him. I didn't even realize that Doyle and Cordelia were trying to pull me off him, until I heard her squeal in pain.

I dropped Peaches and turned around to see Cordelia sitting on her bum on the floor rubbing her ankle with Doyle beside her. "I'm sorry, pet. I didn't even know you were there."

Cordelia nodded, letting out a very unlady-like snort. "After five years, you'd think I'd learn never to get in between two vampires—"

"Well love, your heart's in the right place," Doyle said softly as he helped her up.

Watching the two, I couldn't help but ask myself what is it about these Hellmouth mortals that makes demons want to protect them? I'd die for the Slayer, Willow and Xander. Me, William the Bloody AKA Spike—one of the most feared vampires walking the face of the earth—would die for three mortal children.

And obviously Doyle and Angel would do the same for Cordelia.

Angel's growl broke me from my thoughts. "Spike—"

Sighing dramatically, I turned to him. "Bloody prick—it's nothing that I did or didn't do—it's her. It's because she's the soddin' slayer, mate and her time is up. And according to the watcher, has been up for about two years." I flopped back down on the couch and picked up the Jack Daniel's and held it up to my mouth. "She's bleedin' tired, man, and for the past few months, every fight she jumps into, she's hoping not to come out alive."

I tipped the bottle and began chugging the alcohol as it burned a path down my throat. I couldn't look at him and see his pain. It reminded me too much of my own.

I loved her and had for years and I was going to lose her because her spirit was too old to survive much longer.

"You better be watching her back, Spike!"

My eyes shot open as my true face flickered on. "What the hell do you think I'm doing, Peaches? Why did you think I called you—so I can have you come into my home and threaten me?" I shook my head as my mind flashed on the night before--the battle against the latest demon to want to take over the Hellmouth. I can still see her, jumping into his face—nearly begging the prick to kill her because of her carelessness.

We were just lucky this one was too bloody stupid to catch on. He may've been one brutal, strong son-of-bitch, but he was an idiot.

Thank Satan for idiots.

"Where is she now?"

"With Willow." I finished off the bottle and silently cursed vampiric healing ability. It'd take two more bottles like this before I'd even get close to being snockered. And bloody hell, I wanted to be drunk. Drunk and stupid.

So I could forget.

"Wills wanted to do another protection spell for her. Last night scared everyone," I whispered. I looked up and met his dark gaze. "Talk to her, will ya? Remind her—remind her why she needs to live—"

"Why don't you?" He sat down next to me, really watching me this time and I knew my secret was out. My poof of a sire knew now that his unsouled heathen childe was so in love with his mortal enemy that he was tied up inside in knots.

"I have. But she doesn't even realize that she's doing it—that she's feeling this way. It's a slayer-thing, Angelus. It's her time and—"

"Are all slayers like this?" Cordelia asked after Doyle helped her into a chair. "I mean, what's the deal—why?"

The half-demon shrugged. "Maybe it's because of all the evil slayer's have to deal with and see..."

"I've never heard of such a thing," Angel said softly. "Giles said this?"

Spike nodded. "So, are you going to talk to her?"

Well, he did end talk to her. I don't know how much it worked, but for awhile, she did hold herself back a bit...that is, until Dru decided to come back.

And well, the rest—well, shit—I drained her while under Dru's leathan spell. I sunk my fangs into her breast and sucked the life out of her—while pounding her body into the bed—feeling her hot cunt squeeze my prick, pushing me into the sky—into a heaven that I've only heard whispers about since I've been a demon.

And her blood—it was magic. Thick, rich, life filling and magical. With each swallow, a little bit more of myself came back to me.

Always giving. She's always giving to me—never asking for anything in return.

Satan below—I can't believe it. Even as I watch her now, lying next to me, her body still and pale, like me, I still can't believe it...I love her.